Sunday, June 28, 2009

Another Good Poem from "The Writer's Almanac"

We are the only light faces in a sea of mahogany,tobacco, almond, and this is not the only waywe are different. We've come in late, the choiralready singing, swaying to the music, movingin the spirit. When I was down, Lord, when I was down, Jesus lifted me. And, for a few minutes,we are raised up, out of our own skepticismand doubts, rising on the swell of their voices.The singers sit, and we pass the peace, wrappedin thick arms, ample bosoms, and I start to thinkmaybe God is a woman of color, and that She lovesus, in spite of our pale selves, so far awayfrom who we should really be. Parishionersgive testimonials, a deacon speaks of his sister,who's "gone home," and I realize he doesn't meanback to Georgia, but that she's passed over. I floaton this sweet certainty, of a return not to the blandconfection of wispy clouds and angels in nightshirts,but to childhood's kitchen, a dew-drenched Junemorning, roses tumbling by the back porch.The preacher mounts the lectern, tells us he's been up since four working at his other job, the onethat pays the bills, and he delivers a sermonthat lightens the heart, unencumbered by dogmaand theology. For the benediction, we all join hands, visitors and strangers enfolded in the whole, like raisins in sweet batter. We step through the doorinto the stunning sunshine, and our heartslift out of our chests, tiny birds flying off to lightin the redbuds, to sing and sing and sing.